


Make Babies and Accidental Songs

by allyndra



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Other, Pregnancy, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-19
Updated: 2009-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-03 09:38:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyndra/pseuds/allyndra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither Frank nor Bob is the pregnant one, but they seem to be the ones doing all the freaking out. And they can't even blame the hormones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Babies and Accidental Songs

**Author's Note:**

> Written for popoffacork.

In their defense, Frank and Jamia were still a little giddy and disbelieving when they made the call.

Frank squeezed Jamia's hand as the phone rang. It sounded shrill over the speakerphone, and Frank promised himself he was buying a bunch of entertaining ringback tones the next time he got his hands on Bob's phone.

"H'llo," Bob said.

"Hi, Bob," Frank and Jamia chorused together.

"It's cute how you guys can't go a full day without talking to me," Bob said. His voice was warm enough that Frank knew he really did think it was cute. Underneath the beard and snark, Bob was a softy, and Frank was onto him. "What's up?"

Frank opened his mouth to blurt out their news, but Jamia shook her head. "Not much," she said casually. "We just wanted to let you know that we can't do the usual bar night next week when you're here."

"How come? Is Gerard coming, too?" Bob sounded a little put out, which Frank totally got. The three of them didn't get that much time to themselves, which made it all the more special and jealously guarded.

"No, no," Jamia assured him. "I went to the doctor today, and she told me I can't drink for a while."

"Are you okay?" Bob asked.

"Yup," Jamia was smiling wickedly. Christ, Frank loved her. "We're doing fine. I'm fine, Frank's fine." She paused dramatically, and Frank rolled his eyes at her. "The baby's fine."

Frank bit his lip, waiting to hear Bob's reaction. There was a long silence and he checked the phone to be sure that the call hadn't dropped. Shit, they shouldn't have told him like this. They should have waited until he got here and sat him down on the couch. Told him like grownups.

"Holy fuck." Bob's voice startled Frank out of his worries. "Holy fucking fuck. Baby? For real?"

"Really," Frank said, nodding even though Jamia was to only one who could see him.

"Fuck." There was another long pause and then a clatter of activity from Bob's end of the phone.

"Is that all you're going to say?" Frank asked. Because, yeah, shock and profanity were totally valid reactions, but he'd expected a little more.

"Fuck you, Frank. I'm changing my flight." The clatter resolved into keyboard noises.

"You're still coming," Jamia said. It was more of an order than a question.

"Of course I'm still coming. I'm going to look you two in the face while we talk about this, so I know you're not just making shit up."

 

"We wouldn't make shit up about a _baby,_," Frank said, scandalized.

Bob snorted. "Yeah, save the moral high ground." There were more clicks from his end of the phone. "I'm sending you my flight info. I get in tomorrow at one. Come pick me up from the airport."

"I'm not your bitch," Frank said, more out of habit than out of any real irritation.

Jamia leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Yes, you are, baby. Be a man and admit it."

"Fine, I'll be there."

"Yeah, you will," Bob said. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

Gerard and Lindsey had this adorable but completely lame thing where they said "I love you," every time they hung up the phone with each other. Frank usually mocked them about it, but right now, he thought it would be a nice tradition to have.

He gripped Jamia's hand a little tighter and said. "Okay, we'll see you then."

***

Contrary to popular belief, Frank did not jump on Bob every time he saw him. He wasn't actually five years old, after all. But he did maybe jump on Bob _often_ when he saw him. Often enough that Bob's stance changed when he caught sight of Frank coming toward him; he bent his knees just a bit, and tensed his shoulders, ready to withstand and assault.

Frank didn't feel like being stared at today, though, so he just walked over to Bob and gave him a manly half-hug. One of those dude-bro hugs that involves slapping at shoulders and bumping of chests and no kissing. "Hey," he said. "How was your flight?"

"It was good." Bob nodded.

"Good," Frank repeated. He winced. Shit, if they were reduced to this already, they were fucking doomed. They'd told Bob about the baby yesterday, and already they had nothing to talk about. "C'mon," he said, leading the way toward the parking garage. "Jamia's waiting for us."

Bob was quiet on the drive home, nibbling at his lip ring and picking at a loose thread near the hem of his hoodie. Frank tried not to look over at him too much, but he wasn't too successful. Thank God he was driving, or he'd be staring like an idiot the whole way.

He didn't know what was going through Bob's head, so he kept his own mouth shut until they were almost at the house. As he pulled off on their exit, though, he said, "Listen." Bob's head jerked up, and Frank swallowed. "Listen, I need you to not be a dick about this." He kept his eyes on the road, honest, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see the frown forming on Bob's face.

"Fuck you," Bob said. "What do you think I'm going to do?"

Frank licked his lips and kept staring resolutely at the road. "When we get home, we need to talk."

"Yeah," Bob said, his voice irritated. "That's why I'm here."

"So, when ... Don't act like you're okay and in this for the long haul if you're going to drop us." Frank's hands were so tight on the steering wheel that they were starting to hurt. "I know you're not happy about the baby thing, but-"

"You don't know shit," Bob told him harshly. "You don't know how I feel about this. _I_ don't know how I feel about this. _That's why I'm here._" He sounded really pissed off, and Frank grimaced. This wasn't the plan.

"Okay, so I don't know. This is just a lot, and it'll be more than a lot if you decide you're not into it seven months down the road."

"Way to have faith, Frankie." When Frank flicked a glance toward him, Bob looked tired.

Frank pulled up into their driveway. "It's important, that's all." He turned off the car and leaned over before Bob could open his door. "You're important." He kissed Bob hard, the kiss he hadn't given him at the airport.

He leaned his forehead against Bob's for a moment before pulling away. "Come on," he said. "I think Jamia's making lunch."

***

Jamia didn't have any hang ups about running at Bob as soon as he stepped through the door, and Frank almost resented her for it. Just for a second. She threw her arms around Bob's neck and stretched up to kiss him, and Frank sighed and lost his grip on his irritation. They always looked good together, pressed up tight from mouth to knee, with dogs milling happily around their feet.

Bob's hands wrapped around Jamia's hips, and when she stepped away, they slid forward to press against her belly. She gave him a rueful smile. "I guess I'm going to be getting that a lot, huh? My sister said complete strangers used to come up and touch her stomach when she was pregnant." Bob started to pull back, but Jamia shook her head and laid her hands over the tops of his, trapping them. "It's okay," she said. "You have permission. Free passes for everyone in this room to touch my belly."

Frank grinned. "Oooh," he said, slinking up behind her. "So I can do this all I want?" He ran tickling fingers over her sides, skirting around her and Bob's hands. She shrieked and let go of Bob's hands to swat at him.

"Fine," she said. "_Bob_ has a free pass. You have to pay five dollars and say 'Pretty please' every time you want to touch my belly."

"I don't care," Frank said, with as much superiority as possible. "I don't even want to touch your belly."

"You will," Jamia promised. "When the baby starts kicking and Bob is the only one who gets to feel it, you'll rue the day."

Frank fucking loved that he'd married a woman who said 'rue the day.' He glanced up at Bob to share his amusement, but Bob had a strained look on his face.

"About that," Bob said. "We should talk. Do you guys wanna -" He gestured toward the living room.

"No," Jamia said blithely. When both men stared at her, she continued, "We're not going to do the sitting down, serious discussion thing. It's uncomfortable and boring, and not us." She kind of had a point. When they'd first considered asking Bob into their relationship (Jamia had called it 'asking him to go steady'), that had been a pretty big deal, and the two of them had held the entire conversation while throwing battered Frisbees and saliva-soaked tennis balls for the dogs.

"So we're not going to deal with this?" Bob asked skeptically.

Jamia rolled her eyes at him. "No, I was thinking if we just ignored it, it would go away." She sighed. "I just thought we could have a normal, non-threatening talk about it over lunch. I got stuff for subs."

Bob's shoulders slumped just a little bit. "Okay," he said. "Sandwiches it is."

He let Jamia lead the way into the kitchen. Frank followed behind, wondering why Bob's steps were so heavy.

***

Frank usually took his sandwiches seriously, but today he wasn't paying much attention as he stacked avocado slices and spinach leaves haphazardly onto his roll. He kept getting distracted by the businesslike way Bob was assembling his own sub. It was like he was building a wall, steady and methodical, with a precise layer of mustard to keep it all mortared together. Frank would seriously live in a house Bob built, just judging by his sandwich-making skills.

Jamia's sandwich … was Jamia's sandwich. She'd been making them the same way for years; Frank could have recreated it in his sleep. He grinned to himself suddenly, looking at Jamia's predictable lunch, Bob carefully constructed one, and his own mess of a sandwich.

"We're like The Odd Couple," he said. "Only with two Felixes."

Bob raised an eyebrow at him. "I think you're pretty much the only odd one here."

Jamia nodded, her face a mask of concern. "You are pretty strange," she said. "It's good of us to put up with you."

Bob shrugged his agreement, and Frank took a big bite of his sandwich in an expression of defiance. Bob and Jamia started eating too, all three of them standing around the kitchen counter. It was a nice moment, and Frank treasured it, since he could already feel the pull of worry and 'we need to talk' pulling at the silence, yanking it over into awkwardness.

Bob swallowed and took a gulp of his soda. "So how is this going to work?" he asked, waving his half-eaten sandwich in Jamia's general direction.

Frank's lips twitched with the urge to say something sarcastic about giving Bob the 'birds and the bees' talk, but he managed to control himself. "How does what part of it work?" he said instead.

Bob hitched a shoulder uncomfortably. "I get the part about Jamia having the baby. I mean, that parts going to happen pretty automatically. Unless you decided you didn't want it to happen," he said, looking sharply at Jamia.

She put down her sandwich. "No, I want it. I wasn't planning on a kid right now, but it's a good time, you know? I can do most of my work for Skeleton Crew from home when it gets to that point, we've got a decent place. I've got you guys."

There was something uncertain about the way she said that last sentence that made Frank take a step toward her, looking up expectantly for Bob to join him on her other side. They'd done that before when she was upset, bracketing her with support, and it felt so natural that Frank was startled to see Bob standing firmly in place, still clutching his sandwich.

"That's one of the things I was asking about. _The_ thing I was asking about," Bob said.

"If I have you?" Jamia asked. Frank wrapped his arm around her shoulder and glared at Bob.

"If-" Bob took a deep breath. "You're married," he pointed out. Unnecessarily in Frank's opinion, since neither of them was likely to forget that. "And I'm not part of that."

"You are," Frank told him fiercely.

Bob shook his head. "I'm not being all emo and woe is me," he said. "We're good together. I just don't know how we can be _anything_ together with a kid in the picture. What would it tell the other kids at school?"

"They have books for that now," Frank said. "'Mortimer has Two Daddies' or something."

"But when Mortimer has two daddies, he doesn't also have a mommy." Bob finally put his sandwich down. He'd been holding onto it so tightly that his fingertips had left holes in the bread, right through to the filling. "I don't see where I fit."

"Right here," Jamia replied, gesturing between her and Frank. "You fit right here with us. I know that all kind of stuff is going to change, but that's not one of them."

Frank bit his lip. "If you want, you could be the cool uncle. Not forever, because there's going to come a time when no kid will buy that Uncle Bob just likes to wrestle with Mommy and Daddy sometimes, but for now …"

Bob didn't look convinced, but he did look like he _wanted_ to be convinced. "I guess we can try that for now," he said doubtfully. "If you're sure."

Frank nodded firmly, and Jamia said, "We're sure, asshole." A tiny bit of the tension seeped out of Bob's posture.

"Fuck it," Frank said. "No kid of ours was ever going to grow up totally normal, anyway."

"Don't talk about my baby like it's destined to be a freak," Jamia told him, elbowing him sharply in the ribs.

Frank sidled away. "Oh, it is. I figure that's why we need to pick out the perfect name. It's got to be one with just the right amount of freakdom."

Bob ducked his head to hide his smile. "There's that whole thing of naming your baby after a noun. I was thinking maybe 'Formica,'" he said.

Frank shook his head sadly and took a big bite of his sandwich. "Too girly," he said, loosing a hail of green-speckled crumbs.

"What if it's a girl?" Jamia asked, frowning at him.

"Then she'll be a kick ass girl who doesn't need a froufy name like 'Formica.' Now, I'm kind of partial to 'Albus Severus.'" Frank was proud that he managed to keep a straight face.

"'Thomas Henry Butterfly Rainbow Peace,'" Jamia countered. "Something for everyone."

"Awww," Bob said, now grinning openly. "You don't have to name him 'Butterfly' just for me."

Frank leaned forward over the counter and ate his sub, watching Jamia and Bob lob increasingly ridiculous names back and forth. He wasn't stupid enough to think that everything was resolved, but there was a sparkle in Jamia's eyes and a laugh in Bob's voice. For right now, that was enough.

***

Bob liked to pretend he was above it all, but Frank saw the way his eyes brightened when the first baby gift arrived. It was a spider costume from Mikey and Alicia, with fuzzy black legs and bunches of embroidered eyes. The card said, "For when Frank starts feeling like he's in charge." Frank snorted when he saw it. No matter how gross and evil and really fucking nasty spiders were, there was no way a baby could wear that outfit and look anything but cute. From the way Bob waved the costume's little legs in the air, it looked like he agreed.

***

So long as no one was bleeding or puking, the sight of Bob sitting in a doctor's waiting room was one of the funniest things Frank had ever seen. Considering how accident- and illness-prone their band was, it was a sight he'd gotten to see quite a bit. There was just something about the way Bob hunched into the uncomfortable chairs that made him look like a grown up trying to sit at a kindergartener's desk. Frank didn't know how he managed it, since the chairs weren't actually too small for him, but somehow Bob gave that impression every time.

The way he fiddled with his hair, the out-of-date magazines, his phone, and the strap of Jamia's purse did nothing to dispel the impression. Frank tried not to giggle, but he wasn't super successful.

Jamia gave Frank an arch look, like she was far above his juvenile antics. Then she leaned over to whisper in his ear, "If the receptionist leaves the room, you should draw some monkeys in that mural."

The mural in question was of a tropical rainforest. Frank assumed it was intended to be soothing, but Jamia had a point: it was crying out for monkeys. He tilted his head and studied it, trying to decide if it seemed more like a 'monkey's fucking in the wild' kind of mural or a 'monkeys throwing shit at people' kind. He was leaning toward monkeys fucking. It seemed more in keeping with the whole pregnancy thing.

"Jamia?" They all looked up in unison to see who had just mispronounced Jamia's name. A woman in scrubs with cartoon cats on them stood in the open doorway, holding a folder and beaming vaguely out at the room. Frank, Jamia, and Bob all surged to their feet. She smiled welcomingly at Jamia and gave Bob and Frank a vague look. Not mean or anything, just baffled by them. They ignored it and followed her through the doorway.

She looked even more baffled when neither of the left the room for Jamia to change her clothes, but they kept right on ignoring. Frank figured they'd settled into a pretty solid ignoring groove by now. He kind of liked it, and he was pretty sure it was going to serve them well when the kid hit puberty. Frank thought ignoring shit was probably the single most important skill to have when raising a teenager.

Jamia shed her clothes and pulled on what looked like a Snuggie made out of bed sheets. Bob made a face when he saw that it opened in the front. "What's the point of wearing one of those if no one gets to make bad jokes about your ass hanging out?" he asked.

"Be a rebel," Jamia told him. "Make jokes about my tits hanging out."

"Not as funny," Bob said sadly. Frank patted him on the shoulder. It was true; asses were just funnier than tits. It was a law of comedy.

The ultrasound technician was a woman with masses of curly blond hair and a nametag that said 'Cyndi.' She gave Bob and Frank a questioning _Which one of you is the husband?_ look, but not an _OMG, you're in that band_ look, so Frank decided she was okay.

Jamia ended up on a table with goo all over her belly ("Isn't that how she got into this mess in the first place?" Frank joked to Bob in an undertone. Cyndi glared at him anyway.), while a tech passed a gadget slowly over her abdomen. All four of them stared at the screen, watching the blur that appeared there.

Frank had maybe, possibly been spending time lately googling other people's ultrasound pictures, just so he would know what he was looking at. He was glad of it now, because he could look at the mass of blobs on the screen and clearly see a head and a shoulder. Even though this was what they'd come for, the sight of an actual, real baby growing inside his wife caught Frank off guard. He forgot to breathe for a moment, gaping at the smudgy little head.

Bob took his hand, and Frank squeezed it tightly, glad for the support. After a moment, Jamia groped for them and wrapped her fingers around their joined hands.

"We're trying to determine gestational age?" Cyndi asked, flicking through Jamia's chart with the hand that wasn't holding the ultrasound thingy.

"Yeah. It's been hard to figure out," Jamia replied, blinking a little dazedly. "My cycle is pretty wacky." If they'd been at home, Frank would have expected her to do her famous impression of her period. This involved the period getting lost, getting bitchily drunk, and setting off a flood that destroyed small villages. Frank had seen entire parties of ravening rock stars go silent in appreciation of that impression. Now, though, she just smiled apologetically at the tech.

"I'm just going to take some measurements, then" Cyndi said cheerfully. She froze the image on the screen and started clicking on it. After a moment she said, "This looks like a ten week old fetus." She looked very satisfied with herself. "Now we can get you a more solid due date. And we can probably get a good picture, too. Are you keeping a scrapbook?" She chattered as she prodded at Jamia's belly with her gizmo, nudging until she got just the shot she wanted. "There we go. Look, it's saying hi!" She printed a copy of the picture and handed it to Jamia.

"That's for you," Cyndi said. She wrinkled her nose. "Most parents want to know the child's sex, but it's too early to tell yet, for you." She gave a short laugh. "I don't want to tell you the wrong sex and have you up all night painting over the pink walls, if it comes out a boy."

Frank frowned and wondered if he was supposed to say something about thwarting gender roles. Gerard was really better at that stuff than he was. It turned out he didn't have to, though, because Bob said, "He'd probably grow up raiding his daddy's tiara collection anyway. I bet he could survive pink walls."

"Well," Cyndi said awkwardly. "Right. Anyway, I can't tell you the baby's sex, but I can send the results to your doctor, so you can be sure that everything is going right in there." She gestured at Jamia's stomach. With a perfunctory smile, she put away her little ultrasound-majiggy and stood up. "You can put your clothes back on," she told Jamia. "You're good to go."

Once they were alone, Frank let go of Bob and Jamia's hands so that he could reach forward and slide his fingers through the goo on her stomach. It was thick and cool, and he left streaks behind as he swirled his fingers through it.

"So," Frank said, "That was pretty cool."

Jamia nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. But did you get what she said?"

Frank raised an eyebrow at her, and Bob shrugged.

"Ten weeks. Ten weeks ago was our trip to Chicago."

Frank grinned and leered at Bob and Jamia. He and Jamia had flown out to visit Bob, and the three of them had spent a solid weekend in bed. It had been a good visit.

Jamia whacked him on the shoulder and reached for a paper towel to wipe off her belly. "The point is, I thought knowing when I got pregnant would … narrow things down."

Bob caught on faster than Frank. He actually gasped out loud, and Frank stared at him. "It could be mine," he said, sounding shocked, as though that notion hadn't even occurred to him before.

It had occurred to Frank before, but he hadn't known how likely it was. "What do you think, fifty-fifty chance?"

He expected Bob to make a dick joke, something cheesy and mocking about how Frank didn't quite measure up, how it was more like seventy-thirty. (Although that was not true. Sixty-forty at the very most.) Instead, Bob thumped down into a chair. He looked lost.

Jamia shrugged out of her stylin' Snuggie and back into her street clothes. "Bob?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

He nodded silently, his eyes a wide and startled blue. "What if it's mine?"

Frank thought about it. What if it _was_ Bob's? The kid would probably be better off with Bob's genes than with Frank's short and sickly ones. It would be kind of hilarious, though, if the baby grew up tall and blond, with Frank and Jamia as the putative parents. Frank pictured himself, old and grey, beaming proudly up at a hulking blond football player or supermodel. He snorted.

"It's okay," Frank told the other two. "We just have to be prepared for if it turns out to look like Bob." When they gave him questioning looks, he laughed. "We'll look up every 'The mailman is the baby's daddy' joke ever written."

"And telling people I slept with the mailman will help, how?" Jamia asked.

Frank scrunched up his face. "It'll be funny as shit," he said. "And that always helps."

Jamia flipped him off, but her heart wasn't in it. She was watching Bob. "Would it make a difference?" she asked. "If it was yours instead of Frank's, would it matter?"

"It shouldn't," Bob said slowly. "But I don't know. I kept assuming it was yours and Frank's, and it would be a little weird to be Uncle Bob to your kid, but I could do that. If it's my kid, though … that's way weirder."

Frank fidgeted, tracing over the tattoos on his right hand with the fingers of his left. "Are you saying you want to be the father? On the birth certificate and the school records and all that? If it's yours, like, biologically, I mean." He felt like his stomach was dropping away without him, like that time on the Tower of Terror when he'd ridden seven times in a row.

"Maybe?" Bob's voice was unsure. "God, I don't even know."

"What if we can't tell?" Frank asked. "Most babies look more like Yoda than like either of the parents. If we can't tell, are we supposed to do a DNA test so we can figure out who gets to be the daddy?" His voice was rising, but he couldn't help it. He felt sick and cheated; the idea that Bob might not want him to tuck his baby in at night or walk his kid to the first day of school made him want to hit something. He wondered if this was how Bob had felt when they'd first told him about the baby and he'd been all strange about his role in their lives. If Frank had to live with this feeling, he was going to be strange, too. Hell, he was going to be a fucking nutcase.

"We don't need a DNA test," Bob protested. "That's really Jerry Springer, don't you think?"

"You're a rock star involved in a threesome with a bandmate and his wife, and we don't know who the baby's father is," Jamia pointed out. "It doesn't get much more Jerry Springer than that."

"Fuck," Bob said feelingly.

There was an awkward silence, and Frank wished this were some stupid pointless conversation so that he could break the tension by farting or knocking something over. "I don't care," he said suddenly. "I don't give a flying fuck whose sperm it was. I'm going to be this baby's father." He met Bob's startled gaze levelly. "And I think you should be, too."

Bob frowned at him, but Frank said, "I mean it. I'm not going to love this kid less if it turns out to be a Bob Bryar original. It's still going to be _ours_." He looked over at Jamia, who was nodding emphatically.

"You were the first person we called when we found out about the baby," she told him. "We didn't even call our mothers first, Bob. You've _met_ our mothers. We weren't even thinking about who might be the father, we just needed to tell you."

"Needed to tell me in the dumbest way possible," Bob muttered, but his cheeks were going pink above his beard.

Frank made a _psssht_ noise. "You get that you're part of this family, right? You don't have a ring on your finger, but that doesn't make you some tag along."

"Bob," Jamia said, her voice intent. "Do we need to put a ring on your finger? I'll make Frank get down on one knee." It was a sign of how strongly he felt that Frank didn't even waggle his eyebrows at the reference to kneeling for Bob.

Bob's laugh sounded off, like there was something stuck in his throat. "Alright," he said. "Enough with the grand romantic gestures."

"We mean it," Frank said.

Bob nodded slowly. "Okay. I still think it's going to be really fucking awkward when the kid learns how to talk and starts telling people about our family." Frank's heart jolted at the words 'our family.' "But I'm in."

"You'll be a daddy instead of Uncle Bob?" Jamia asked, her mouth already curving into a grin. "Even if you're not the baby daddy?"

"And you're okay with me being one, even if you _are_ the baby daddy?" Frank added.

"Yeah," Bob said, looking scared and excited. "I'm in. We'll have a polyamorous baby-raising commune, with two daddies, one mommy, and seventeen million dogs. Holy fuck, what am I getting myself into?"

"Too late, motherfucker!" Frank crowed. "No take backs. You're stuck with us, now."

He was about to launch himself onto Bob's back when there was a knock at the door. The woman in cat-printed scrubs peeked in at them, frowning disapprovingly. "If you're done," she said pointedly, "We need the room for other patients."

Jamia gave her a shy smile. "We just finished, thanks," she said. She took Frank by the hand and pulled him toward the door, and Frank grabbed Bob's hand as they passed. Linked together like schoolchildren, they walked down the hall and out of the office.

People stared at them in the waiting area and in the parking lot, but Bob didn't try to let go.

***

Frank had known that Ray was a genius since the first time he'd heard him play guitar, but he hadn't known Ray was this much of a genius.

"Listen to this," Frank said for the fifth time. He wound up the mobile and watched as the tiny, soft musical instruments and microphones started spinning. As they spun, delicate tinkling notes played _Welcome to the Black Parade_. He beamed up at Bob, then leaned around him so he could properly beam at Jamia. "Do you hear this?"

Jamia smiled back at him, her cheeks stretching wide. Under her shirt, her belly was starting to stretch pretty wide, too. "We hear it," she said.

Bob reached out a flicked a little drum with his finger as it spun past.

***

"I'm going to be a shit father," Frank despaired. "What the fuck was I thinking? Why didn't you tell me what a horrible idea this was?" He glared accusingly up at Bob.

"You're not going to be a shit father," Bob said in a reasonable voice. It made Frank want to bite him. "You've been mothering the hell out of your dogs for years; how different could it be?" When Frank's glare sharpened, he held up his hands. "Okay, pretty different, but still. You're gonna do fine."

"Fucker," Frank muttered. "I should have known you were freaking out early on just so I'd be stuck doing it now."

Bob nodded equitably. "Division of labor," he said. "I already pulled my weight in the freaking out department."

"But what if I am?" Frank asked. "What if I'm the crappiest father in the world, and he hates my guts?"

"Luckily for you," Bob said, "You're not raising this kid on your own. Between the three of us, I bet we can figure it out." The waiting room chair, like all of its ilk, made Bob look awkward and oversized, but today he was somehow managing to look wise, too.

"Maybe you had the right idea from the start. You and Jamia can raise the baby, and I'll be wacky Uncle Frank. Nobody cares if wacky Uncle Frank is a dipshit."

Bob sighed and leaned down so that his eyes were level with Frank's. He looked serious, and Frank prepared himself to receive some secret advice or something. Instead, Bob kissed him, soft and steady until Frank started to calm. When he started to pull away, Frank wrapped his arms around Bob's neck and held on tight. He didn't let go until he someone cleared their throat loudly nearby.

"For Jamia Iero?" a man in green scrubs said. "She's ready for the father to come in."

Frank and Bob stood up together.


End file.
